Ophelia
by whenfireanddarknesscollide
Summary: One of my favorites, Hamlet, has a girl in there, Ophelia, who is driven so mad by Hamlet's actions that she ends up killing herself... That's what I'll name you, then. Ophelia. Written for the QLFC Season 4, Round 4: Holyhead Harpies, Keeper.


The bell above the door rang, catching my attention. I watched as a brunette lady dressed in stylish Muggle clothing strode in, her heels making a light clicking sound on the wood floor audible enough for my sensitive ears to hear.

Heather, the keeper of the shop I lived in, smiled at the woman. "Hello, dear, what may I help you with?"

The woman returned the smile. "My name is Hermione Granger, and I'd like to purchase an owl, preferably one that can fly far distances. You see, my boyfriend was caught on the wrong side of the war, and I need to be able to send messages to him in Azkaban."

Heather nodded sympathetically. A lot of people had been caught up in You-Know-Who's mess; some bad, some good, and some just plain old afraid.

I sat up straighter and ruffled my feathers as Heather gestured towards me and my fellow owls.

"Here is our selection of owls," Heather said, and I preened as Hermione's eyes scanned over me. "Currently, we have barn owls, brown owls, tawny owls, screech owls, gray owls, a couple of snowy owls, and one eagle-owl. All of our owls here at the Emporium are specially trained to fly further than most, so you shouldn't have to worry about the distance."

Hermione walked slowly down the row of cages, glancing in each one to look at us owls closely. When she arrived at my cage, nestled in the very corner, she met my eyes—and stopped.

"What's this one?" Her eyes never left mine, and I tried my hardest to keep from hopping up and down in excitement.

"This, my dear," Heather said proudly, "is our one and only Eurasian eagle-owl. She's one of the largest species of owl in the world—and a very beautiful one at that."

I could hardly believe my own ears when Heather leaned closer to Hermione and asked, "Would you, perchance, like to purchase her today?"

My little bird heart pounded. Most people looked over me because I was so large, which I guess wasn't as popular as the smaller owls Heather kept. This was the closest I'd been to being adopted by a witch or wizard before!

I held my breath as Hermione glanced around at her other choices once more, studying all the owls with an equally shrewd eye, before returning her gaze to me.

"I'll take her," she said, and then I _did_ hop up and down.

Heather broke into a large grin. "Excellent!" I gripped my perch as she lifted my cage from the shelf and set me down on the counter. Hermione stared at me admiringly as Heather played with her cash register. I preened, showing off my elegant markings.

"Would you like to purchase any items for the owl?"

Hermione blinked, dragging her eyes away from me and looking back at Heather. "Items?" she asked.

"Food, my dear. Owl treats, perhaps?"

"Oh, of course. I'll, err, I'll take two bags of owl treats, please," Hermione replied.

Heather reached down under the counter and brought up two bags labeled with some sort of human scratchings. "That'll be twenty-five Galleons," she said. "I'm afraid our eagle-owl is quite a bit more expensive than the rest."

"It's fine," Hermione said, shaking out an accurate amount of the large gold coins from her purse. She offered a kind smile. "I'm sure she'll be worth every Knut."

After paying, Hermione stuffed both bags of owl treats into her bag. I watched her, slightly disappointed that I wouldn't be receiving any of those treats anytime soon, but I was quickly distracted as she picked me up and excitement rose once again.

Still grinning, Heather watched us as we made our way to the door. "Thank you for your business!" she called. And then, for the first time since I'd arrived at the Emporium, I was out in the bustling world once more.

* * *

"So, what am I to name you?" Hermione asked me as she released me from my cage and directed me towards an owl perch near her desk.

I hooted softly, stepping lightly back and forth on the perch. I'd never had a name before! I wondered what Hermione would call me. I hoped she came up with something pretty.

"You know, I loved Shakespeare when I was younger. He was a Muggle playwright, and he wrote the most beautiful of plays. One of my favorites, Hamlet, has a girl in there, Ophelia, who is driven so mad by Hamlet's actions that she ends up killing herself. Well, Draco isn't really driving me insane by his own actions, but this separation feels worse than death," she whispered, and I locked eyes with her, listening intently. Her voice filled with sadness.

"That's what I'll name you, then. Ophelia. Maybe it's a bit morbid, but perhaps you can be the bridge—or owl, I guess—that saves mine and Draco's relationship from drowning."

I hooted with pleasure. I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by all that depressing Hamlet stuff, but Ophelia was a _beautiful_ name. And, as she turned away from me to begin scribbling on parchment, I thought she looked much happier with the idea that I could save her relationship.

I hopped up and down, studying my surroundings as Hermione wrote her letter. Her office was a beautiful blue and simply decorated, with only a few moving pictures adorning her walls. There was a calendar decorated with pictures of France on the back wall, one date circled in red. There were photos of her friends atop her bookcases.

There was one photo, on her desk, that she would look at frequently as she scribbled madly on her pages. The only person in it was a pale young man, with tousled white blonde hair and a green tie hung loosely around his neck. He turned every few seconds, looking back over his shoulder in surprise as if he wasn't expecting to be caught on camera. Then, as he recognized the photographer, he broke into a sly grin and winked.

When Hermione finally finished her letter an hour later, I hooted at her impatiently, hopping to her desk and perching next to the photo.

"Do you want to know who that is?" she asked me.

I hooted back at her.

"This is Draco," she said, smiling at the photo. "His father was a Death Eater, and he got pressured into joining the Death Eaters. We started dating in secret during our sixth year because it wouldn't be appropriate for a Muggleborn to be dating a pureblood supremacist. I took this around Christmas time before everything happened." She sighed heavily before rolling up her parchment and attaching several rolls of blank parchment and a Self-Replenishing Quill with a Temporary Sticking Charm.

"I want you to deliver this letter to Draco Malfoy. He's in the wizard prison, Azkaban, and it will be a long and difficult journey across a large ocean. Do you think you can do this for me?"

She looked at me with such hope and strength that I couldn't help it; I wanted to do anything for this wonderful woman. I was in awe of her intelligence and strength. Even as an owl, I'd managed to hear much about this group called the Death Eaters, and the fact that she, as a Muggleborn, had managed to fall in love with one impressed me.

I stuck out my leg for her to attach the letter, and she breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Ophelia."

I gently nibbled her fingers, feeling proud when she granted me an affectionate smile. Then, gathering my strength around me, I pumped my wings and flew out into the night.

* * *

It was hour eight of flying over water, and I was exhausted. The wind buffeted me as I lugged the thick scroll across the sea, searching constantly for the wizard prison. My magical senses, which all wizarding owls are born with, were directing me farther and farther north towards the faint traces of Draco Malfoy's magical print. As tired as I was, though, I was determined to reach the prison and deliver this letter. If this letter was important to Hermione, then it was important to me.

I pushed myself through the wind, trying hard to stay on course as the wind got stronger.

 _Just keep flying, Ophelia. Fly straight and true. Do it for Hermione. Do it for love. She trusted you with this very important letter, and she's put so much faith in you, that you just can't fail._

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I caught sight of the island. It was small, dark, and smelled horrible, like rotting flesh. I shivered as the smell of despair hit my senses. Though it was only one building, it rose high into the sky, cutting into the dark horizon like a knife.

Could I really find that sweet boy from the picture _here_ , of all places?

I soared downwards towards the island, taking in my new surroundings. The hallways between the rows of cells provided me relief from the winds, but the gloomy feeling was nearly overwhelming. My natural instincts were screaming at me to get out, but I knew I had to press on. I had to deliver Hermione's letter.

Navigating the prison was surprisingly easy. Now that I was here, my magical tracking abilities were pointing me towards Draco Malfoy's cell.

At last, I found Draco's cell and made a sharp turn, diving sideways through the metal bars.

Hunched down on the floor, Draco looked up with surprise as I glided into his cell and landed, rather elegantly I might add, on the bed next to him. "What the—?"

I hooted a light greeting, taking in the man before me. He didn't look much like his photograph. His blonde hair was shaggy, he now had a beard and mustache where before his face was clean shaven, and his eyes were lined with dark circles.

He observed me in shock. Naturally, I did the only thing I could. I stuck out my leg with its letter and hooted.

He stared at the letter, then looked back at me. His eyes were filled with regret, pain, and confusion, but behind them all, there was something of that grinning boy from the picture.

I pushed my leg closer, hooting once more. The letter was heavy and after the many hours of travel, all I wanted was to be relieved of my burden and take a nice, long nap.

He startled at my more impatient hoot, reaching out slightly, hesitant to take the letter.

"For… me?" he asked uncertainly.

I raised my leg even higher in response, hoping he would take the letter soon.

Draco gulped, his hands shaking as he finally took it. Was he cold? Was he scared?

"Thank you," Draco murmured, still in somewhat of a daze.

He began to stroke my back as he opened the letter, reading its contents slowly. The stroking felt so nice, I began to snooze right where I was perched.

"Hermione," he breathed, reading it aloud with a sense of awe. I shook myself awake, listening to him choke out the heartfelt words Hermione had sent him.

While Draco finished reading that long and writing an even longer reply, I tucked my head under my wing and took a much-needed nap.

Quite some time later, he whispered, "Ophelia,"and I shook myself awake, hooting in response. He ruffled my feathers, then attached the scroll onto my ankle.

"Take care, Ophelia," Draco said. "Get this to Hermione safely. Are you ready for the trip back?"

I hooted in response, giving him one last nibble on the fingertips. Feeling revitalized, I flew away into the night, ready to tackle the journey home.

* * *

Weeks and then months passed with me dutifully bringing letters back and forth between the blonde boy and Hermione, taking each journey in the hopes that it would be my last and Draco would be allowed to come home.

"Why won't they let him come home?!" she yelled one night, as I sat huddled on my perch. She threw the letter the Ministry owl had just delivered (ungrateful, brooding hulk of an owl, he snubbed his beak at my owl treats!) into the fire.

"His father was the real Death Eater. Draco was stuck in a home where his parents forced him to hate people like me. They invited the Dark Lord into their house when he was _fifteen_!"

I watched as she punched her pillow. I was becoming worried for my mistress; the circles under her eyes darkened with each passing day, and her hair lost its shine. Each night she would cry herself to sleep with his picture in her arms.

In his cell, Draco would go through the same pain. Each letter I delivered revealed him to be a little more tired, a little more worse for wear. It was as if the pain I felt on the journeys was manifesting in their own lives.

I watched as the letters to the Ministry grew less frequent and the letters to Draco more frequent, until the only thing Hermione could do was sit at her desk, write to Draco, and go back to bed.

I watched. I waited.

Until, finally, there came a day when I flew back from a hunting trip to find Hermione dressed and ready, her face painted up like the photos in magazines she sometimes read and her hair neatly curled.

"Today's the day, Ophelia!"

I glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was the day circled in red.

I hooted, puzzled.

Hermione turned to me with tears in her eyes. "Draco's being released today. He's finally coming home," she whispered, and I hooted with happiness, hopping up and down on my perch.

Finally, after months and months of flying… I'd never have to make that journey to Azkaban again.

* * *

 **A/N - Quidditch League Fanfiction Contest**

 **Season 4, Round 4, Creature Comforts**

 **Holyhead Harpies, Keeper**

 **Prompt: Write from the point of view of an owl.**

 **Word Count (Google Docs/Pages): 2,319**

 **Special thanks to my amazing betas, Melody (MelodyPond77) and Ever (HP-Forever-XX)!**


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